Programa de TV: Futurama - 1x8
FARNSWORTH: Good news, everyone.
Tomorrow, you'll make a delivery to Ebola Nine, the virus planet.
-Why can't they go today?
-Tonight's special.
I want you all to be alive.
It's the Academy of Inventors annual symposium.
-Wow!
I love symposia!
-The scientific event of the season.
Every member presents an invention.
The best one wins the Academy prize.
-Sounds boring.
-Oh, my, yes.
But not this year.
.
.
.
.
.because my latest invention is unbeatable.
Behold, the Death Clock.
Jam your finger in the hole.
This readout.
.
.
.
.
.tells you how long you have to live.
-Does it really work?
-Sometimes it's off by seconds.
.
.
-.
.
.what with free will and all.
-Cool.
How long do I have to live?
Dibs on his CD player!
A Big Piece of Garbage FARNSWORTH: Oh, my, yes.
-Who's the nerd?
-That's me at the first symposium.
I'm the Academy's oldest living member.
-These youngsters look up to me.
-Well, well, well.
Look who's showing his wrinkled face.
-Just leave me alone, Wernstrom.
-You're over the hill, Farnsworth.
Leave science to the 1 20-year-olds.
You think you know everything.
I invented things when you were barely turning senile.
Go home before you embarrass yourself, old man.
Now excuse me.
I'm taking a nap before the ceremonies.
Who's that jerk?
He was my most promising student 1 00 years ago, at Mars University.
But then, after one fateful pop quiz.
.
.
.
A-minus?
No one gives Ogden Wernstrom an A-minus!
I'm sorry, but penmanship counts.
I swear I'll have my revenge if it takes me 1 00 years.
And here it is, slightly over 99 years later and still no revenge.
I'm essentially in the clear.
I've been perusing your fortified wine list.
.
.
.
.
.and I've selected the '71 Hobo's Delight.
.
.
.
.
.the '57 Chateau Par-Tay, and the '66 Thunder Chevitz.
Exquisite choices, sir.
And mix them all together in a big jug.
Welcome to this year's symposium.
I'm your host, Ron Popeil.
.
.
.
.
.inventor of Mr.
Microphone, the Spray-on Toupee.
.
.
.
.
.and the technology to keep heads alive in jars.
Wait, there's more.
We've got many inventors tonight.
.
.
.
.
.starting with that up-and-coming young star, Ogden Wernstrom.
-Boo!
-More wine!
Distinguished members of the Academy, I present the Reverse Scuba Suit.
Observe.
Fetch!
Now, sit.
I said sit!
Bad fish!
[APPLAUSE] Don't worry.
It's no competition for your Death Clock.
What will you be presenting, grandpa?
It'll put you young whippersnappers in your place.
I hope it's not as lame as last year's Death Clock.
-Last year?
-That's right.
Oh, my.
-Did it put you youngsters in place?
-Hardly.
We laughed until our teeth fell out.
Come along, Cinnamon.
I have to invent something new in the next 1 0 minutes.
Perhaps some sort of Death Clock!
Uh, professor?
[PROPELLER ENGINES WHIRLING] -Very nice.
-Amazing!
Our last presentation comes from our oldest member, Hubert Farnsworth.
Professor?
Just a second.
Just a second.
Pencils down, prune-face.
Here I am.
Now, hello there.
We all know telescopes allow us to see distant objects.
.
.
.
.
.but what if we want to smell those objects?
Well, now we can.
Thanks to my new invention.
.
.
.
.
.the Smell-O-Scope.
The odor travels past this coffee stain here.
Around the olive pit.
.
.
.
.
.and into this cigar burn.
And this appears to be a.
.
.
.
.
.doodle of myself as a cowboy.
[CROWD LAUGHS] But the Smell-O-Scope is brilliant!
Think of the astronomical odors you'll smell, thanks to me!
[CROWD LAUGHS] Oh, my.
[CROWD LAUGHS] I've waited 1 00 years for this.
I give your invention the worst grade imaginable: An A-minus-minus!
[CROWD LAUGHS] Now for the presentation of the award.
I'm practically giving this away to.
.
.
.
.
.Dr.
Wernstrom, for his fish thingy.
[FARNSWORTH SNIFFS] Perhaps 1 49 is just too old to be a scientist.
-Yep.
-No, professor!
Don't give up!
There were many times in my century when I never gave up.
Never.
Are you even listening to me?
Oh, I give up.
By God, you're right!
I'm going to build that Smell-O-Scope!
FARNSWORTH: Eureka!
FRY: Did you build it?
No, I remembered that I built one last year!
Go ahead, try it.
You'll find that every heavenly body has its own scent.
Here, I'll point it at Jupiter.
[FRY SNIFFS] -Smells like strawberries.
-Exactly.
And now, Saturn.
Pine needles.
Man, this is great!
As long as you don't make me smell Uranus.
-I don't get it.
-I'm sorry, Fry.
Astronomers renamed Uranus in 2620 to end that stupid joke once and for all.
-What's it called now?
-Urectum.
Here, let me locate it for you.
No, I think I'll just smell around over here.
[FRY SNIFFS] [FRY GAGS] What is it?
Oh, jeez!
Oh, man!
Remarkable!
A stench so foul it's right off the funkometer!
Fry may have discovered the smelliest object in the known universe!
Oh!
Name it after me!
I think it's moving.
Perhaps the computer can calculate its trajectory.
My God!
It's headed straight for us!
With enough force to reduce this city to a stinky crater!
We have less than 72 hours.
Well, let's get looting.
[BENDER WHISTLES] This thing will destroy the whole city?
What the heck is it?
Just as I thought!
The answer lies in this movie I found on the Internet.
NARRATOR: New York City.
The year 2000.
The most wasteful society in history...
...
was running out of places to bury its never-ending output of garbage.
The landfills were full.
New Jersey was full.
Under cover of darkness, the city put its garbage out to sea...
...on the world's largest barge.
[MAN WHISTLES] The repulsive barge circled the oceans for 50 years...
...but no country would accept it.
Not even that really filthy one.
You know the one I mean.
Finally, in 2052, the city used its mob connections to obtain a rocket...
...and launch the garbage into outer space.
Some experts claim the ball may return to Earth.
But their concerns were dismissed as "depressing. "
You got that off the Internet?
In my day it was only used to download porn.
Actually, that's still true.
Now that the garbage is in space...
...perhaps you can help me with my sexual inhibitions.
With gusto.
Aw!
That's it.
Due to the short-sightedness of Old New York.
.
.
.
.
.New New York will be destroyed by a ball of garbage.
What the hell were you people thinking then?
-How could you throw your garbage out?
-Give me a break.
-What do you do with it?
-We recycle.
-Robots are made from old beer cans.
-And this can's made from old robots.
That sandwich is made of discarded sandwiches.
-Nothing just gets thrown away.
-The future is disgusting.
Typical 20th-century attitude.
You've no right to criticize my century.
We invented the light bulb, steamboat and cotton gin.
-Those are from the 1 9th century.
-They probably just copied us.
Please!
There's no time for this now!
This is an emergency!
We must warn the mayor!
Garbage ball, huh?
That sounds serious.
Very serious, Mayor Poopenmeyer.
I hope this isn't a fraud like global warming or second-hand smoke.
Send in my science adviser.
-Wernstrom!
-Well, well, well.
Come to present your latest napkin?
I'm here because a giant trash ball is heading straight for us.
Smell for yourself.
Hey!
Holy jeez!
That smell could be anything.
.
.
.
.
.a faulty stench coil, cheese on the lens, who knows?
We just got this transmission from Neptune!
RECORDED VOICE: Giant garbage ball...
...passed close by.
Horrible stench!
[RECORDED VOICE GAGS] The transmission ends there, sir.
[RECORDED VOICE GAGS] No, I guess it keeps going.
[RECORDED VOICE GAGS AND STOPS] -There we go.
-My God!
The senile old man is right!
-Do you mean him or me?
-Him!
Next, New New York in crisis.
Morbo?
Thanks, human female.
Puny earthlings were shocked to learn that garbage...
...
will destroy their pathetic city.
-I'm glad we live here in Los Angeles.
-Morbo agrees.
[NEWSCASTERS LAUGH] -Can't we shoot a missile at it?
-The supercomputer's simulation.
.
.
.
.
.shows that the ball is too gooey.
Missiles would go through it.
But suppose we sent a crew to plant an explosive on the fault line.
.
.
.
.
.between this mass of coffee grounds and this deposit of AOL floppy disks?
In theory, it could work.
But you'll never find a crew willing to go on such a suicidal mission.
Oh, crap!
FARNSWORTH: You only have one chance to destroy the ball.
After that, it'll be so close that blowing it up.
.
.
.
.
.would cause garbage to rain on the entire planet.
.
.
-.
.
.killing billions.
-Boo-hoo.
Here's the bomb I've prepared.
Once activated, you have 25 minutes to get away.
-That's all--?
-Now, now.
We'll discuss your objections when and if you return.
Odor at magnitude eight.
[CREW GAGS] Magnitude 1 2.
Magnitude 31 !
We're breaking up!
Turn on the anti-smell device!
[DEVICE HISSES] FRY: Sporty.
-Wow!
LEELA: Look at all this filth.
FRY: It's not filth.
It's a monument to 20th-century achievements.
Look!
A real Beanie Baby!
A Mr.
Spock collector's plate!
[PLATE BREAKS] Some Bart Simpson dolls!
BART DOLL: Eat my shorts.
-Okay!
Mmm, shorts!
This was garbage when it was new.
Let's blow it up already.
This junk isn't garbage!
I can dig anywhere.
.
.
.
.
.and find something great.
[FRY CHOKES] All right, let's get to work.
Let's see.
If that's Hypodermic Ridge, then the bomb goes right here.
Get ready.
We've got 25 minutes. "
Fifteen minutes. "
"Five minutes.
Six-H minutes"?
There's your problem.
The professor put the counter on upside down.
That idiot!
It wasn't set for 25 minutes, it was set for 52 seconds.
[FRY SCREAMS] -We're gonna die!
Right?
-Right.
It's gonna blow!
Hey!
You'll put somebody's eye out!
Okay, keep your space pants on.
I'll take care of this.
[EVERYONE SIGHS] -We're saved.
-Yeah, but the ball's unstoppable now.
New New York is done for.
[SCRATCHING SOUND] All in all, this is one day Mittens the Kitten won 't soon forget.
Kittens give Morbo gas.
In lighter news, the city of New New York is doomed.
Blame rests with human Hubert Farnsworth...
...and his tiny inferior brain.
Oh!
How could I have put that timer on upside down?
I swear I followed the manual precisely.
I'm a dried-up husk of a scientist.
This is all my fault.
No, it's my fault too.
I'm sure I threw out more than my share of trash.
And when my toilet broke, I just went straight in the garbage can.
Leela's right.
The people of the 20th century were idiotic slobs.
-Especially me.
-Enough!
You failed miserably.
Time to put a real scientist in charge.
-Wernstrom!
-The very same.
-Wernstrom, can you save my city?
-Yes, but it'll cost you.
-First, I need tenure.
-Done.
-A research grant.
-You got it.
Lab access and five grad students, at least three Chinese.
Done.
What's your plan?
What plan?
I'm set for life.
Au revoir, suckers.
-That rat!
Do something!
-I would, but he's got tenure.
[PEOPLE GAG] It's time to take action.
Stephanie, cancel the maid.
Have her come tomorrow.
Well, I'm out of ideas.
Anyone?
Wait!
If we could build an object of the same size, density and consistency.
.
.
.
.
.it might knock the ball away without smashing it to bits.
Where can we find a substance the same density and consistency?
Alas, I don't know.
What about garbage?
Good Lord!
A second ball of garbage!
That just might work!
You can't just find garbage in the streets.
City's been garbage-free for 500 years!
-Then it's time to make some more.
-Make garbage?
-But how?
-Stand back and watch the master.
This Slurm can?
Now it's garbage.
These papers?
Garbage.
This picture of your wife?
Pure garbage.
Now you try it.
By God, I think the boy's got something!
Come on, the fate of the city is at stake!
Good.
Don't finish that.
Throw it away.
Drink that beer and drop the bottle.
Very nice.
Get that robot some more beer!
Trashing this room's a start.
Let's get Fry's message to the people!
People of New New York, take a lesson from the 20th century.
Stop this recycling and throw your garbage on the floor.
Go on, chuck it anywhere like I did.
Your city is counting on you.
If my calculations are correct, this ball will knock the other.
.
.
.
.
.directly into the sun!
If mine are correct, we're all going to die horribly!
Places, everyone!
Prepare for launch!
Five, four, three, two.
.
.
.
.
.three, four, five, six.
.
.
.
Just fire the damn thing.
FRY: Oops.
[HEART BEATING FAST] [HEART BEATS ONCE] [FAST DRUM BEAT] [SNIFFS] -Burning garbage!
-It worked!
And so, on behalf of the entire city, I thank you, Professor Farnsworth.
I present you with the Academy prize, which we confiscated.
.
.
.
.
.from Wernstrom after we realized he was a jackass.
In your face, Wernstrom!
I'll get you, Farnsworth, even if it takes another 1 00 years!
And Fry, we owe you a tremendous debt as well.
Without your garbage-making skills.
.
.
.
.
.we'd all be buried under 20th-century garbage.
Should we be celebrating?
What if it returns to Earth like the first one?
Who cares?
That would take centuries.
Exactly.
It's none of our concern.
That's the 20th-century spirit!
[CROWD CHEERS]
Tomorrow, you'll make a delivery to Ebola Nine, the virus planet.
-Why can't they go today?
-Tonight's special.
I want you all to be alive.
It's the Academy of Inventors annual symposium.
-Wow!
I love symposia!
-The scientific event of the season.
Every member presents an invention.
The best one wins the Academy prize.
-Sounds boring.
-Oh, my, yes.
But not this year.
.
.
.
.
.because my latest invention is unbeatable.
Behold, the Death Clock.
Jam your finger in the hole.
This readout.
.
.
.
.
.tells you how long you have to live.
-Does it really work?
-Sometimes it's off by seconds.
.
.
-.
.
.what with free will and all.
-Cool.
How long do I have to live?
Dibs on his CD player!
A Big Piece of Garbage FARNSWORTH: Oh, my, yes.
-Who's the nerd?
-That's me at the first symposium.
I'm the Academy's oldest living member.
-These youngsters look up to me.
-Well, well, well.
Look who's showing his wrinkled face.
-Just leave me alone, Wernstrom.
-You're over the hill, Farnsworth.
Leave science to the 1 20-year-olds.
You think you know everything.
I invented things when you were barely turning senile.
Go home before you embarrass yourself, old man.
Now excuse me.
I'm taking a nap before the ceremonies.
Who's that jerk?
He was my most promising student 1 00 years ago, at Mars University.
But then, after one fateful pop quiz.
.
.
.
A-minus?
No one gives Ogden Wernstrom an A-minus!
I'm sorry, but penmanship counts.
I swear I'll have my revenge if it takes me 1 00 years.
And here it is, slightly over 99 years later and still no revenge.
I'm essentially in the clear.
I've been perusing your fortified wine list.
.
.
.
.
.and I've selected the '71 Hobo's Delight.
.
.
.
.
.the '57 Chateau Par-Tay, and the '66 Thunder Chevitz.
Exquisite choices, sir.
And mix them all together in a big jug.
Welcome to this year's symposium.
I'm your host, Ron Popeil.
.
.
.
.
.inventor of Mr.
Microphone, the Spray-on Toupee.
.
.
.
.
.and the technology to keep heads alive in jars.
Wait, there's more.
We've got many inventors tonight.
.
.
.
.
.starting with that up-and-coming young star, Ogden Wernstrom.
-Boo!
-More wine!
Distinguished members of the Academy, I present the Reverse Scuba Suit.
Observe.
Fetch!
Now, sit.
I said sit!
Bad fish!
[APPLAUSE] Don't worry.
It's no competition for your Death Clock.
What will you be presenting, grandpa?
It'll put you young whippersnappers in your place.
I hope it's not as lame as last year's Death Clock.
-Last year?
-That's right.
Oh, my.
-Did it put you youngsters in place?
-Hardly.
We laughed until our teeth fell out.
Come along, Cinnamon.
I have to invent something new in the next 1 0 minutes.
Perhaps some sort of Death Clock!
Uh, professor?
[PROPELLER ENGINES WHIRLING] -Very nice.
-Amazing!
Our last presentation comes from our oldest member, Hubert Farnsworth.
Professor?
Just a second.
Just a second.
Pencils down, prune-face.
Here I am.
Now, hello there.
We all know telescopes allow us to see distant objects.
.
.
.
.
.but what if we want to smell those objects?
Well, now we can.
Thanks to my new invention.
.
.
.
.
.the Smell-O-Scope.
The odor travels past this coffee stain here.
Around the olive pit.
.
.
.
.
.and into this cigar burn.
And this appears to be a.
.
.
.
.
.doodle of myself as a cowboy.
[CROWD LAUGHS] But the Smell-O-Scope is brilliant!
Think of the astronomical odors you'll smell, thanks to me!
[CROWD LAUGHS] Oh, my.
[CROWD LAUGHS] I've waited 1 00 years for this.
I give your invention the worst grade imaginable: An A-minus-minus!
[CROWD LAUGHS] Now for the presentation of the award.
I'm practically giving this away to.
.
.
.
.
.Dr.
Wernstrom, for his fish thingy.
[FARNSWORTH SNIFFS] Perhaps 1 49 is just too old to be a scientist.
-Yep.
-No, professor!
Don't give up!
There were many times in my century when I never gave up.
Never.
Are you even listening to me?
Oh, I give up.
By God, you're right!
I'm going to build that Smell-O-Scope!
FARNSWORTH: Eureka!
FRY: Did you build it?
No, I remembered that I built one last year!
Go ahead, try it.
You'll find that every heavenly body has its own scent.
Here, I'll point it at Jupiter.
[FRY SNIFFS] -Smells like strawberries.
-Exactly.
And now, Saturn.
Pine needles.
Man, this is great!
As long as you don't make me smell Uranus.
-I don't get it.
-I'm sorry, Fry.
Astronomers renamed Uranus in 2620 to end that stupid joke once and for all.
-What's it called now?
-Urectum.
Here, let me locate it for you.
No, I think I'll just smell around over here.
[FRY SNIFFS] [FRY GAGS] What is it?
Oh, jeez!
Oh, man!
Remarkable!
A stench so foul it's right off the funkometer!
Fry may have discovered the smelliest object in the known universe!
Oh!
Name it after me!
I think it's moving.
Perhaps the computer can calculate its trajectory.
My God!
It's headed straight for us!
With enough force to reduce this city to a stinky crater!
We have less than 72 hours.
Well, let's get looting.
[BENDER WHISTLES] This thing will destroy the whole city?
What the heck is it?
Just as I thought!
The answer lies in this movie I found on the Internet.
NARRATOR: New York City.
The year 2000.
The most wasteful society in history...
...
was running out of places to bury its never-ending output of garbage.
The landfills were full.
New Jersey was full.
Under cover of darkness, the city put its garbage out to sea...
...on the world's largest barge.
[MAN WHISTLES] The repulsive barge circled the oceans for 50 years...
...but no country would accept it.
Not even that really filthy one.
You know the one I mean.
Finally, in 2052, the city used its mob connections to obtain a rocket...
...and launch the garbage into outer space.
Some experts claim the ball may return to Earth.
But their concerns were dismissed as "depressing. "
You got that off the Internet?
In my day it was only used to download porn.
Actually, that's still true.
Now that the garbage is in space...
...perhaps you can help me with my sexual inhibitions.
With gusto.
Aw!
That's it.
Due to the short-sightedness of Old New York.
.
.
.
.
.New New York will be destroyed by a ball of garbage.
What the hell were you people thinking then?
-How could you throw your garbage out?
-Give me a break.
-What do you do with it?
-We recycle.
-Robots are made from old beer cans.
-And this can's made from old robots.
That sandwich is made of discarded sandwiches.
-Nothing just gets thrown away.
-The future is disgusting.
Typical 20th-century attitude.
You've no right to criticize my century.
We invented the light bulb, steamboat and cotton gin.
-Those are from the 1 9th century.
-They probably just copied us.
Please!
There's no time for this now!
This is an emergency!
We must warn the mayor!
Garbage ball, huh?
That sounds serious.
Very serious, Mayor Poopenmeyer.
I hope this isn't a fraud like global warming or second-hand smoke.
Send in my science adviser.
-Wernstrom!
-Well, well, well.
Come to present your latest napkin?
I'm here because a giant trash ball is heading straight for us.
Smell for yourself.
Hey!
Holy jeez!
That smell could be anything.
.
.
.
.
.a faulty stench coil, cheese on the lens, who knows?
We just got this transmission from Neptune!
RECORDED VOICE: Giant garbage ball...
...passed close by.
Horrible stench!
[RECORDED VOICE GAGS] The transmission ends there, sir.
[RECORDED VOICE GAGS] No, I guess it keeps going.
[RECORDED VOICE GAGS AND STOPS] -There we go.
-My God!
The senile old man is right!
-Do you mean him or me?
-Him!
Next, New New York in crisis.
Morbo?
Thanks, human female.
Puny earthlings were shocked to learn that garbage...
...
will destroy their pathetic city.
-I'm glad we live here in Los Angeles.
-Morbo agrees.
[NEWSCASTERS LAUGH] -Can't we shoot a missile at it?
-The supercomputer's simulation.
.
.
.
.
.shows that the ball is too gooey.
Missiles would go through it.
But suppose we sent a crew to plant an explosive on the fault line.
.
.
.
.
.between this mass of coffee grounds and this deposit of AOL floppy disks?
In theory, it could work.
But you'll never find a crew willing to go on such a suicidal mission.
Oh, crap!
FARNSWORTH: You only have one chance to destroy the ball.
After that, it'll be so close that blowing it up.
.
.
.
.
.would cause garbage to rain on the entire planet.
.
.
-.
.
.killing billions.
-Boo-hoo.
Here's the bomb I've prepared.
Once activated, you have 25 minutes to get away.
-That's all--?
-Now, now.
We'll discuss your objections when and if you return.
Odor at magnitude eight.
[CREW GAGS] Magnitude 1 2.
Magnitude 31 !
We're breaking up!
Turn on the anti-smell device!
[DEVICE HISSES] FRY: Sporty.
-Wow!
LEELA: Look at all this filth.
FRY: It's not filth.
It's a monument to 20th-century achievements.
Look!
A real Beanie Baby!
A Mr.
Spock collector's plate!
[PLATE BREAKS] Some Bart Simpson dolls!
BART DOLL: Eat my shorts.
-Okay!
Mmm, shorts!
This was garbage when it was new.
Let's blow it up already.
This junk isn't garbage!
I can dig anywhere.
.
.
.
.
.and find something great.
[FRY CHOKES] All right, let's get to work.
Let's see.
If that's Hypodermic Ridge, then the bomb goes right here.
Get ready.
We've got 25 minutes. "
Fifteen minutes. "
"Five minutes.
Six-H minutes"?
There's your problem.
The professor put the counter on upside down.
That idiot!
It wasn't set for 25 minutes, it was set for 52 seconds.
[FRY SCREAMS] -We're gonna die!
Right?
-Right.
It's gonna blow!
Hey!
You'll put somebody's eye out!
Okay, keep your space pants on.
I'll take care of this.
[EVERYONE SIGHS] -We're saved.
-Yeah, but the ball's unstoppable now.
New New York is done for.
[SCRATCHING SOUND] All in all, this is one day Mittens the Kitten won 't soon forget.
Kittens give Morbo gas.
In lighter news, the city of New New York is doomed.
Blame rests with human Hubert Farnsworth...
...and his tiny inferior brain.
Oh!
How could I have put that timer on upside down?
I swear I followed the manual precisely.
I'm a dried-up husk of a scientist.
This is all my fault.
No, it's my fault too.
I'm sure I threw out more than my share of trash.
And when my toilet broke, I just went straight in the garbage can.
Leela's right.
The people of the 20th century were idiotic slobs.
-Especially me.
-Enough!
You failed miserably.
Time to put a real scientist in charge.
-Wernstrom!
-The very same.
-Wernstrom, can you save my city?
-Yes, but it'll cost you.
-First, I need tenure.
-Done.
-A research grant.
-You got it.
Lab access and five grad students, at least three Chinese.
Done.
What's your plan?
What plan?
I'm set for life.
Au revoir, suckers.
-That rat!
Do something!
-I would, but he's got tenure.
[PEOPLE GAG] It's time to take action.
Stephanie, cancel the maid.
Have her come tomorrow.
Well, I'm out of ideas.
Anyone?
Wait!
If we could build an object of the same size, density and consistency.
.
.
.
.
.it might knock the ball away without smashing it to bits.
Where can we find a substance the same density and consistency?
Alas, I don't know.
What about garbage?
Good Lord!
A second ball of garbage!
That just might work!
You can't just find garbage in the streets.
City's been garbage-free for 500 years!
-Then it's time to make some more.
-Make garbage?
-But how?
-Stand back and watch the master.
This Slurm can?
Now it's garbage.
These papers?
Garbage.
This picture of your wife?
Pure garbage.
Now you try it.
By God, I think the boy's got something!
Come on, the fate of the city is at stake!
Good.
Don't finish that.
Throw it away.
Drink that beer and drop the bottle.
Very nice.
Get that robot some more beer!
Trashing this room's a start.
Let's get Fry's message to the people!
People of New New York, take a lesson from the 20th century.
Stop this recycling and throw your garbage on the floor.
Go on, chuck it anywhere like I did.
Your city is counting on you.
If my calculations are correct, this ball will knock the other.
.
.
.
.
.directly into the sun!
If mine are correct, we're all going to die horribly!
Places, everyone!
Prepare for launch!
Five, four, three, two.
.
.
.
.
.three, four, five, six.
.
.
.
Just fire the damn thing.
FRY: Oops.
[HEART BEATING FAST] [HEART BEATS ONCE] [FAST DRUM BEAT] [SNIFFS] -Burning garbage!
-It worked!
And so, on behalf of the entire city, I thank you, Professor Farnsworth.
I present you with the Academy prize, which we confiscated.
.
.
.
.
.from Wernstrom after we realized he was a jackass.
In your face, Wernstrom!
I'll get you, Farnsworth, even if it takes another 1 00 years!
And Fry, we owe you a tremendous debt as well.
Without your garbage-making skills.
.
.
.
.
.we'd all be buried under 20th-century garbage.
Should we be celebrating?
What if it returns to Earth like the first one?
Who cares?
That would take centuries.
Exactly.
It's none of our concern.
That's the 20th-century spirit!
[CROWD CHEERS]